


Witnessed

by Holde_Maid



Series: Highlander50_-_Methos [19]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Community: highlander50, LiveJournal Prompt, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holde_Maid/pseuds/Holde_Maid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos has a problem with religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witnessed

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, not my universe, no profit made, unless you count kind comments. ;-)

  
Methos left the church thoroughly shaken. He had sought refuge in there, and in a way he had found it. Safety in numbers. For a while he had thought it might even be fun to attend the service all these people were celebrating.  
  
No, he didn't even want to _begin_ to think about it. He shook his head, wishing again he were able to forget specific events at will, and gave the tiny, modern church one last shuddering look over his shoulder.  
  
Actually, it _had_ been entertaining to watch them "testify", yes. For a while. But...  
  
No, no, no!  
  
What he needed now was a safe place, a ... sanctum. The word reminded him uncomfortably of how the service had gone on and on, and how people gathered into little clusters around a person or two, closing in on the sanctum...  
  
He decided not to go for option one. Meditation was off the menu for the time being. Consequently, he lengthened his strides and turned left at the next corner. He knew exactly what he needed to do now, and where.  
  
"Hey, Adam! Good to see you." Joe Dawson greeted him with what looked like a cowboy smile. Lopsided, genuine, with just a hint of the bitter lessons life had taught him, and reassuringly normal.  
  
He didn't have enough energy left to keep up all the defensive walls, so his "Good to see you, too, Joe" came out rather too meaningful.  
  
One look, and he knew Joe noticed it. He didn't ask any questions, though, bless the man, just clicked his tongue knowingly and turned away.  
  
Bless him... Another phrase that carried unwelcome connotations. Tonight everything smelled of incense and Holy Water to him, every other word took him back to that little church with the simple wooden benches, stone altar, and very little else but people. People who gathered in little clusters...  
  
Ugh.  
  
A bottle of beer was set down in front of him. Joe nodded, and Methos gave him a half-smile. Joe asked, "Anything you need?"  
  
"Are you going to play tonight?" Joe's reaction was one of surprise but didn't commit him either way. "I feel like losing myself in some good music." This time, his smile purposely betrayed how much he meant that. "Just... if you could leave out gospel."  
  
Dawson squinted at him. "I want to hear that story."  
  
By Jove, Methos thought, he certainly did not want to tell it.  
  
He didn't answer, seemingly aloof, but Joe was Joe. "When you're ready."  
  
He nodded. No matter how shaken he was right now, the shock would pass. But first he deserved a spot of blues-aided binge drinking. He needed to brush the matter aside for just a _little_ longer; getting drunk was a lousy escape for Immortals, anyway. It simply took far too long to get into a drunken stupor, and the state passed too quickly. But then, so did the headache afterwards. Something to be thankful for.  
  
It wasn't long before Joe went on stage, greeted by enthusiastic whistling and clapping from the usual crowd. They were thrilled to get a free unscheduled concert out of the bluesman. Especially those who realised just how good a musician he was.  
  
Methos smiled and finished the second of the three beers he had ordered.  
  
Amazing. Mortals were so full of talents, even though they would never have time to explore one to the full, not to mention to develop each and every one of them.  
  
And his own talents? He wondered what they were, really. His linguistic achievements certainly weren't based on talent, just on time and effort. The many languages he spoke...  
  
Ouch. That thought led him back once again to little clusters of people gathering in that church, and he was not yet ready to go there. More ready than before, though.  
  
Why had this incident shaken him, anyhow? Weren't Quickenings, Immortals, and what little true magic he had come across devastating enough if you thought about it? He dealt with those every day without batting an eye-lid, didn't he? Why should this be different?  
  
Maybe it was just too new. No. Too unexpected. After 5000 or so years, novelty was a rare attribute in his world. Yes, that hit the mark. He was simply out of practice when it came to dealing with the unexpected. That probably also explained why he bungled improvising so horribly sometimes...  
  
He chuckled, thinking back. There might be something to that theory.  
  
A while later, when Dawson announced a break, Methos noticed he had, finally, gotten lost in the music. It had been a beautiful refuge, if barely needed anymore.  
  
He beckoned the mortal to join him.  
  
Joe's satisfied grin proved yet again how very perceptive the man was. While he lowered himself in a chair, he stated, "Payback time."  
  
Methos nodded. When Dawson sang, he bared his soul and mind. Now it was his own turn.  
  
He paused for another moment, took a sip off his beer, and told Joe about the church he had fled into on feeling an Immortal presence. "The pews were packed. I thought it would be fun, attending the service of a religion that's half my age." Joe's eyes didn't leave his. A Watcher, indeed. It had to be this curiosity that made him so perceptive. "And it was. Soothing surroundings, nice songs, friendly people,... So I stayed on." He took another sip of beer.  
  
"So?" Dawson urged him on. So curious.  
  
Poor man, he was in for a disappointment, Methos thought now that he had calmed down. "Have you ever heard of people speaking in tongues?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
He shrugged. "They did."  
  
"So?" Joe repeated. "Don't tell me you've never..."  
  
"Joe." Of course he had encountered that kind of thing before. Just not like this. "These guys didn't talk gibberish thinking it was other languages. As I brushed past one, he clearly spoke a sentence in a language that's been dead for more than a millennium; another uttered one in a medieval French dialect. How do you explain that?"  
  
To Methos' satisfaction, Joe did look a tad stricken. "Umm..." But then he brightened up. "Hmm, C.G. Jung ... what's it called ... collective unconscious?"  
  
_Hmmm. The shared memory of generations that leaks out through intuition and the like._ Methos shrugged. "Objective psyche, actually."  
  
"Whatever."  
  
"Could be." It made sense, after a fashion. Not that there was anything to explain the existence of a collective memory of such proportions, but ... being able to label the startling experience helped.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, then Dawson got up. "Listen, I've promised the crowd a second set. Want another beer?"  
  
Methos shook his head. "I'm all set, thanks."  
  
Joe was already turning to go, then suddenly a thought seemed to strike him. "You recovered pretty quickly..."  
  
He laughed. "No, I didn't. I should have been back to normal by the time I got here. I've seen a lot more stunning things in my time, you know."  
  
"Yeah, right." Oddly, Dawson sounded impatient. "As if you didn't know why you freaked."  
  
Ah. Joe was perceptive, intelligent, and yet dead wrong. "No, I don't. Share!"  
  
The mortal tilted his salt-and-pepper head a little, and stated, "What got to you is that you couldn't laugh this one off. Maybe you missed out on true faith for two thousand friggin' years, but now it's caught up with you."  
  
That was Joe for you: Too clever by half.


End file.
